Salvation at a Cost
by ElizabethAnnFanfic
Summary: Post 9x20 The Truth and pre IWTB fic. Angst, MSR. Mulder and Scully are still on the run and chasing evidence. Scully finds that she can't continue.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:

This is set sometime after The Truth and before Mulder and Scully move to Virginia, as we find them in IWTB. This fic doesn't belong in my "Cursing Miracles" universe, since it shouldn't interrupt canon (as CM does). I haven't been inspired to write anything set after season 7 in a long time. This should have two chapters.

Timeline: post 9x20 The Truth

Category: Post-episode fiction

Chapter One

It had been many months since she'd slept well or ate anything cooked by someone who wasn't wearing a hairnet. She stared at the food in front of her and contemplated the pain in the middle of her back. She knew logically that you had to eat to stay alive, but that didn't seem like much encouragement at the moment. What was the point? After all, it was all just about existing now. It wasn't living. Living until the next day…the next month…the next year. The purpose for all of this seemingly dried up months ago. Now it was just a sham, as far as she was concerned.

Drive down the road. Ask questions of people who didn't know or weren't going to tell. Poke around looking for evidence of something. Watch in the rearview mirror as you drove away from another warehouse without answers or evidence. Rinse and repeat.

Nothing had been solved. Nothing ever really was. Mulder still said the world was going to end. Seemingly there was nothing they could do about it one way or the other. She wondered if she was the only one who noticed that they hadn't been followed for several months now. That seemed to confirm to her that it was all pointless. No one was even bothering to stop them. Either their efforts were completely off base and didn't merit tracking or something had changed in the universe that they were as of yet uninformed about, making their little game of chase totally useless.

Whatever the case, she didn't think they were of much importance anymore in the grand scheme of things. She certainly didn't feel important. She felt like an organism put on earth merely to eat, sleep, and ride in the car. If she stopped eating, the pointlessness might end.

"Not hungry?"

Mulder's voice brought her out of her trance and she looked up at him across the laminate table. He looked concerned. She hadn't taken care to compose her mask: he had probably glimpsed something that she had tried to hide from him. It was bad enough feeling as she did, she didn't want to have to live with his guilt should he know how empty she had become.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice betraying a slight tremor.

"I'm fine."

She picked up her fork, trying to will herself to eat. Maybe it would help minimize the damage, if she could show him that she had an appetite.

"We can go somewhere else," he said, as her fork hovered above her food. "If this isn't what you want."

What she wanted? Since when did that matter? She set her fork back down and chastised herself: she was trying not to be embittered. Mulder was doing what he thought he had to do, and she'd promised to follow him and not admit defeat. If there was any chance of success, he would probably be in the right for continuing on. And he'd given up things too. They had a shared regret now. The thought of William made her stomach flip.

"Where would we go?" She hadn't intended on sounding so resentful. 'Take a bite,' she said forcefully to herself, but she couldn't even pick up the fork now.

He just kept looking at her. His gaze was so intense that she couldn't look away, although she wanted to go back to staring at her plate.

"I'll just pay the check," he finally said, pushing away his plate.

She knew she should protest, tell him to finish eating, but she couldn't make the words form. She might have lost the will to put food in her body, but that was no reason she should prevent Mulder from doing so. But, she wanted out of the diner and the promise of escape was too much to pass up. Of course, if they left, they'd just be headed back to the motel, which sounded as bad as the diner they were sitting in. There were no real options.

* * *

Mulder slammed the door of the truck and sat for a moment staring ahead. He had been engrossed in the chase, but not so engrossed as to ignore the signs that Scully was walling herself off. The more composed she became, the worse he knew it was getting. He was afraid what the outcome would ultimately be. And the more that potentiality troubled him, the more he felt the need to continue the chase. If there was some indication that they'd achieved something with all this running, there would be some justification of the wreck he'd made of their lives. There just hadn't been any hint that they'd made one iota of progress.

Her composure had slipped in the diner, staring at her food like it was full of maggots. She had let it slip in her tone, in her looks, in her inability to put on a show for him. To say she had reached the end of her rope was no exaggeration. She was slipping right over the precipice. He was losing her.

He put the key in the ignition and turned the engine, gripping the wheel tightly with both hands. He waited for a moment—waiting to see if Scully would say something or make some kind of move. Something other than: I'm fine. But, she was so quietly composed again that with the engine on, he couldn't even hear her breathing. Only the smell of her shampoo and a slice of her in his peripheral vision confirmed her presence.

There didn't seem to be any point in waiting. He threw the truck in gear and pulled out of the diner. It would be another silent ride. That's what they did nowadays: rode down desolate roads in silence together. They weren't chasing the monsters as partners; he was doing the chasing, and she was merely along for the ride. And at this point, he wasn't quite sure why she hadn't bailed.

He closed the door behind them and watched her walk over to one of the twin beds and slump down on the orange bedspread. She had volunteered to go inside and book a room when they'd arrived that afternoon. When he'd opened the room and seen twin beds, he couldn't bring himself to ask if that's all they'd had left. It seemed more likely to him that she'd requested this situation, so she could wall herself more completely from him. Establish a physical boundary, in addition to the emotional one he felt growing between them.

"You want to watch TV?" she asked, staring blankly ahead.

"Do you?" he asked, still standing in the doorway.

He got no response. He threw the car keys on the table and walked over to the other bed, flopping down in defeat.

"Scully?"

"Mmm?" she responded, still staring forward.

"If we hadn't ever been partners, what would you have thought of me?"

His question seemingly startled her, causing her to look back over her shoulder at him quizzically. It was dangerous, trying to get her to talk, but the act was beginning to wear on him.

"I mean…" he began, trying to explain the reason for his question.

"I knew you by reputation," she interrupted. "You were an excellent agent. Incredibly skilled."

He sat up, unlacing his shoes and kicking them off. He hadn't meant professionally. He didn't worry about whether she respected him professionally.

"I didn't mean what you thought of me as an agent," he said leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head.

She turned on the bed so as to face him.

"Personally?"

He nodded slightly.

"It's hard to know, Mulder. I think most people at the FBI found you a little _difficult_."

"You think that's why they want me dead?" he asked with a smirk.

"You _are_ difficult," she affirmed.

"Okay, but if we'd met somewhere else."

Scully looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"Where? A bar?"

"Anywhere…a bookstore…an art museum. Where ever you'd prefer."

"Mulder, it's hard to imagine something like that. It's hard to imagine not knowing you."

He couldn't imagine it either. He didn't want to. But he was afraid that would be his reality soon enough. She wouldn't want to know him anymore.

* * *

Scully watched him from her tiny bed. He looked tired and worried. She thought for a moment what it would be like if she really had met Mulder in a bookstore. Would he have talked about aliens? Government conspiracies and mutants? Or been smooth and smiled and asked her for a date? Only to not show up, as she knew he used to do on a regular basis with the women he hounded? And even if he had shown up, wouldn't she eventually have been the victim of his quest? He could be charming and attentive, but there was always the quest. The beauty—if you wanted to call it that—of their partnership, is that she could go on the quest with him. Everyone else got left behind.

What if they'd just never met. No FBI, no bookstore. No Mulder.

The thought made her pulse begin to race. They were driving around the world on an endless quest, but they were together. She needed the man across from her. She loved him. That is why she stayed even when staying was causing her to fold inward upon herself.

Scully stood up and stepped over to his bed, nudging his legs so she could perch on the edge of the mattress. She rested her hand on his thigh, swallowing.

"I can't imagine not knowing you, Mulder, but I can tell you what I thought of you when I did meet you…face-to-face."

He raised his brow, looking as if he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know.

"I thought you were more than a little bit crazy just as you intended and…" she paused to chuckle and cover her eyes with her hand. "Oh, I thought you were cute, Mulder," she confessed quietly.

He sat up and pulled her hand from her face. He was smirking.

"I shouldn't have told you that."

"You'll never hear the end of it," he conceded.

He tucked a strand of her red hair behind her ear and leaned in to rest his head against hers. The heat of his breath against her neck raised bumps along her arms.

"I thought you were cute too," he whispered huskily his lips brushing her temple.

She smiled, tucking her face closer to his.

"But not my type," he added.

Scully rolled her eyes.

He looped his arms around her middle, pulling her into his lap. He began tracing patterns with his fingers on her lower back. She drooped against his chest, so she could feel his chest rise and fall. It suddenly seemed unfair to him that she was lying to him and wearing a mask.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into her hair.

Scully could imagine all of the things Mulder was sorry for. There was a running catalog. She didn't really need to hear them though, because she was sorry too. She was sorry that he'd spent a year away from them, when she should have demanded he stay with her…with William. She was sorry that she had thousands of memories of their son and he had maybe ten. She was sorry she had given William away to be raised by strangers and that Mulder hadn't been given a choice or been able to say goodbye. She was sorry that she couldn't continue to fight with him. She needed it to be over.

"Mulder, I can't do this anymore," she said with a sigh.

She felt him tighten around her. Every muscle tensing with anxiety from her pronouncement or perhaps a desire to lock her down should she attempt to bolt. She sat upright and his arms fell away from her stiff and lifeless.

"Mulder, I'm sorry, but I can't. This is meaningless to me now."

His eyes danced in his head, swimming with fear.

She grabbed his hand and squeezed.

"I need to be doing something that matters. I need to give my life meaning. I need to stay in one place. Chasing phantoms isn't going to cut it for me anymore. It's too dark."

He continued to watch her wordlessly.

"No one is following us at this point, Mulder. I don't think anyone cares. We're as pointless to them as I am to you."

He shook his head. "Scully," he said pleadingly.

"Mulder, we need a home. We need to stop running," she vehemently asserted.

* * *

Mulder wasn't sure he'd heard her right. She'd been telling him why she had to leave him. It was what he'd feared for several months. But then she'd said 'we'. He was almost certain that she'd said that 'we' needed a home.

"I'm a wanted man," he said, trying to determine if what he thought he'd heard was correct.

"We'll live somewhere isolated. We'll be careful."

There it was again…we…we…we. It suddenly became the most beautiful word in the English language. She was offering him salvation…at a cost.

"I just can't run anymore, Mulder. I can't run away and I can't chase."

He nodded, biting his lower lip. A vision had appeared to him in the desert. Three men that had been his friends had urged him to turn back. He'd been asked: why risk perfect happiness? He wanted to change the future…maybe even die trying, so he wouldn't be a complete failure…to help assuage some of his guilt…to save the world like superman.

But maybe they'd been right. Maybe he couldn't change the future. At this moment the only future he saw was right in front of him, asking him to sacrifice his quest. It was the only time she'd ever asked it of him. She'd told him that it was his inability to give up that inspired her to follow him, maybe even fall in love with him. Now she needed him to follow her.

"I'm being honest, here, Mulder. We don't even know…" she trailed off.

Mulder realized that she must have seen the frustration flit across his face. She still didn't believe. Not really. Or she didn't want to. Maybe the truth wouldn't crush her spirit as long as she could live in denial.

"I need to make a difference where I can, like the next day could be the last. That's what we all should be doing anyway…whether it's because the heavens are going to rain alien space ships or something much more mundane. This…" she said gesturing around the tired room, "this running around isn't making any kind of difference."

"I know," he affirmed.

It was all he could manage. He agreed. It was just intensely painful to admit defeat.

"Come with me, Mulder. I need you with me," she said softly.

He nodded again in affirmation. He wouldn't willingly be separated from her again.

* * *

Scully felt her breath come more quickly as she realized that Mulder had agreed to stop running with her. The relief washed over her in waves and she began to shake with the release of tension that had built over the intervening months. Mulder watched her sympathetically for a moment before pulling her to his chest once more.

She pressed a kiss on his suprasternal notch or the hollow of his neck—the only flesh she could reach in his tight embrace. She could feel his adam's apple bob against her forehead and he made a muffled noise in the back of his throat.

He pressed a kiss along her hairline before quietly saying her name: "Scully." When he spoke in this tone, it sounded to her like a prayer. "I want to make love to you."

"In this tiny bed, Mulder?" she asked with a slow smile.

"I'm more than willing to take the challenge."

"Well, it was all they had left."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

They're in VA now, but Scully hasn't gone to work at the hospital yet. Looks like there will be a chapter three.

Chapter Two

"Are you sure you weren't followed?" Mulder asked, pulling the gate open for her and shouting through her car window.

It didn't matter that they'd been here several months without any sign of trouble. Mulder was convinced that someone would follow her home. Every time she left the house, she knew he would be at home pacing. Being penned up with him in the house wasn't doing much for her psyche though; so, she occasionally headed into civilization to run errands or have lunch with her mother. They were moments when she could pretend that she was normal.

"No one," she assured him as she shut the car door.

If she didn't reassure him, he'd worry about it all evening. And he wasn't sleeping all that well: his nightmares had returned.

He stood, hands in his pockets, slightly blocking her way back into the house.

"It's alright, Mulder. No one for miles. My mom says hello," she said, reaching up to touch his cheek and slip past him.

"You probably shouldn't talk about me to her," he said, following her into the house.

She sighed. "Sorry, but she'd like to know you're okay. It's ridiculous to pretend like you don't exist."

"It would be better that she didn't know anything…for her own safety. Someone could be listening or…"

"Mulder," Scully said in a tone of warning.

She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a glass, filling it with water from the tap. She could see him out of the corner of her eye leaning against the doorframe, hands still in his pockets.

"No more, okay?"

"Okay," he said grudgingly.

"Anyway…I checked my P.O. Box and watered the plants in the apartment."

She'd rented a furnished apartment and taken out a P.O. Box when they'd returned to Virginia. It wasn't much of a ruse, but it was something.

"They're not dead yet?" he asked blandly.

"Hanging on. And good news: Netflix sent you another movie," she said, jerking her head in the direction of the purse she had dumped on the kitchen table.

Mulder stepped forward and reached for her purse, fishing out the DVD slowly and pausing over the purse for several seconds.

"I'll watch it with you, if you want," she said between sips of water.

He nodded and turned on his heel.

* * *

...

"Mulder," Scully said shaking his shoulder.

"Mmm?" he said, his eyes popping open.

"It's two in the morning. Come to bed."

He sat up groggily, looking around to see a living room that he still wasn't used to. He must have fallen asleep watching TV, but the set was off. Scully must have turned it off before shaking him from his sleep. He scrubbed his face with his hands.

"Come to bed," she repeated.

He followed her dutifully into the bedroom, although he didn't think he could fall back asleep, now that he was awake.

He wondered, as he watched her slip into the bed in her green satin pajamas, when she was planning on telling him. He didn't particularly want to be on her time schedule for revelation. Scully could be painfully slow about confessing things. And it still hurt, after all these years that she could be closed off with him. She was all he had left, after all.

"You could have told me," he said, as she moved to turn on her side.

She paused and looked back up at him, her brows knit.

"Are you still asleep, Mulder?" she asked.

He sat on the bed and shook his head. "Wide awake."

"Well, you're not making any sense."

"I saw it in your purse," he explained.

Her face immediately showed the tension that must have flooded her system.

"I wasn't snooping…just getting the DVD. Or were you intending that I find out that way?"

Her mouth opened and closed, but she said nothing.

"You could have told me," he said more firmly, pulling back the sheets in a quick motion and sliding underneath.

She reached out to him, lightly touching his shoulder.

"Mulder, it's what we talked about. I said I needed to get back to work." Her voice shook slightly.

"I know. So, why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think…I wasn't sure how you'd take it. You haven't seemed at ease."

"Are you kidding? The country air has done wonders for me," he replied sarcastically.

He spent his days watching and waiting. He needed a hobby. Too bad his old hobbies weren't Scully-friendly.

"Mulder, I know it isn't fair."

Obviously. She had options. He had none. This certainly wasn't the way he had ever imagined living. Hiding. Useless. In the middle of nowhere, USA. Of course, he hadn't imagined being with Dana Scully either and he was. That was why he had to make the effort—for her.

"So, tell me about this place. Our Lady of Sorrows—sounds like a trippy place."

"It's a Catholic hospital…kind of run down. Out of the way. I wouldn't attract any attention there, but I think I could be of help to them. They'd be happy to have me."

"For…?"

"Pediatrics."

That was surprising enough to cause him to take note. He turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Really?"

"There is an opening."

"That's what you want to do? Pediatrics?"

There was a pregnant pause before she answered: "I think so."

He wouldn't have imagined that she would want to be surrounded daily by the reminder that she no longer had a child. They never spoke about William. The topic hung between them unspoken along with several other weighty issues that he assumed she no longer wanted to visit in conversation. So, he thought about William in moments of silence and he visited him in his dreams.

"I've been looking around, and I really think this is my best option."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Her tone registered her surprise. He imagined that she had been expecting an argument or at least more resistance than she was meeting with. But, he knew it wouldn't be of any use and would only drive them apart.

"Yeah. You use your best judgment. If you think this is the place, this is the place. There isn't any reason to have you holed up like a hostage here with me. You _should_ be back at work."

Scully scanned his eyes in the darkness for something.

"Are you going to be pacing around every day while I'm gone?" she asked quietly.

"Am I wearing grooves in the floor?" he asked with a half smile.

"I worry…" she said, trailing off.

About his sanity? That perhaps they weren't as safe as she professed they were? That he wouldn't be there when she came home one day?

"Don't. I'll do the worrying."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close.

"I'll get a hobby."

"Oh yeah?" she said into his chest.

"Airplane modeling."

"Mmm…"

"We've got all the ventilation a man could want."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

She'd only been working for a few weeks when she began to notice the pile of newspapers beginning to grow by their front door. Half-chopped up and discarded papers from around the country and eventually from around the world in a jumbled heap, waiting to be taken out with the trash.

He wasn't pacing the floors anymore. He'd done what he'd promised: he'd gotten a hobby—searching. She didn't ask what it was he was searching for. Aliens, mutants, unexplained phenomena, or maybe his sister. But, he was searching. He searched through publications with the eagerness of a pre-teen girl scanning _Tiger Beat_ for a picture of her favorite non-threatening teen idol. And when something would catch his eye, he would clip it out and tape it to the wall.

Scully had gone over the clips when he'd been absent from the room, and she caught herself holding her breath as she scanned the images. He was developing quite a shrine to his former life taped to the walls of their remote house. She wasn't sure what to make of it and she hadn't dared make any mention of his new hobby. She gamely took the newspapers out to the trash and said nothing as their subscription list grew by leaps and bounds.

"How was work?" he called, his back to her as she entered the room where he sat pouring over something.

She took a few steps forward to see what it was that was engrossing him so, and her heels crunched in the spat out sunflower seeds that littered the floor around him. She stopped short and stared down at them in disgust. They turned up everywhere. It was one thing for him to litter the Hoover Building, but quite another to have her home be the repository for his nasty habit.

"I'll sweep them up," he said, still hunched over.

She sighed and slipped off her trench coat, turning away. She could live with the fish tank in their bedroom. She could live with Mulder's Netflix picks. She could even live with his tendency to sprawl across their bed, leaving her little space of her own. She felt less tolerant of the sunflower seeds; she really hated those damn seeds.

"I've got a new patient," she said, placing her coat on the table.

"Uh huh."

"A little boy. I spent the day trying to diagnose him. I'm no closer than I was eight hours ago."

"You'll figure it out. You always do."

He might have ultimate confidence in her abilities, but she didn't think he was truly being her cheerleader at the moment. He sounded distracted. It had already become something of a routine for them. She came home at whatever hour, he was busy devouring some random find, he mindlessly asked her questions about the hospital, and eventually she coaxed him away so they could eat or go to bed.

She would have been more concerned about him, if she wasn't so relieved to have something of a routine for the first time in years. And she fully recognized that it was oppressively unfair. It would be nice once and awhile to come home and decide to go out for dinner together—ribs or Chinese. She knew he would probably like to go to a baseball game, rather than fight with the bunny ears trying to get one to come in clearly on the TV. He probably would want to visit his friends or his family, if he had had any left. She could join the real world, but she left him every day in order to do it. He'd been left behind by the world.

"What are you reading?" she asked, coming over to glance over his shoulder.

"Something ancient," he said, quickly shutting the magazine.

Scully thought she saw "The Lone Gunmen" emblazoned on the cover as he flipped it over. She bit her lip and wondered how he had managed to get his hands on a back issue. Inexplicably, visual reminders of their past had begun to occupy their home: like the "I WANT TO BELIEVE" poster taped to the wall and a picture of the Flukeman that seemingly materialized out of thin air to be proudly displayed on Mulder's wall of freaks. She wondered if these things brought Mulder comfort or made him sad the way they did her.

He spun in the chair, turning to face her, his hands on his knees. Still gazing at the mess he'd made, Scully rubbed at the knots in her tense shoulders with one hand.

"Want some help with that?" he asked, standing up and placing his hands on her shoulders.

Mulder's hands were always pleasantly warm. She'd known that for years, as she'd feel the warmth of his hand on the small of her back through her jacket. That warmth combined with the strength of his thenar muscles made for an excellent massage. He gave her his best smile as he began to knead her tight muscles.

"Thanks," she said with a contented sigh, closing her eyes for a moment.

When she opened them again, she regarded him for a second. She thought it had been at least two days since he had shaved and he was looking very scruffy. She didn't think it could be considered ruggedly handsome stubble anymore.

"Mulder…"

"Yeah?" he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Don't you have time to shower and shave?"

He let his hands slip and stepped back before her.

"All I've got is time, doc," he said with an expansive gesture.

"You sure? Because, you're looking a little…rough."

He stroked his face.

"I showered like a good boy, Scully. Give it a chance: it's still coming in."

"What are you talking about?"

"My beard."

She shook her head in bemusement. "You're not seriously growing a beard."

"Yes, I am."

She knit her brow and blinked quickly. She tried to think of various male acquaintances she'd known over the years: had they gone through mid-life crises that involved newspaper clipping and facial hair growth? No. Mulder was still an original.

Of course, Mulder was the psychologist, but she knew well enough that lack of care in regards to personal hygiene could be a sign of depression. He still had trouble sleeping and sudden obsessive interest in work or hobbies was another indication of clinical depression. He certainly had enough to be depressed about; the second two were just the norm for Mulder, however.

She glanced around at the walls around them. Maybe he was just searching for a meaning to his circumscribed life.

"You don't like it?" he asked with a smirk, drawing her gaze back to him. "I thought it would help me out being _incognito_."

"Have you considered that it's rather unlikely that a beard will throw anyone off that really wants to find you?"

"All Clark Kent needed were glasses."

"Are you amusing yourself, Mulder?"

"I always do," he assured her, giving his face another rub.

"So, this is part of your plan to elude capture?"

"Sure is."

"Even Richard Kimble was clean shaven, Mulder."

"I'll take that into review."

THE END

For those of you too young to know "The Fugitive": Richard Kimble was the main character in a wildly popular 1960s TV series (and a movie in 1993 starring Harrison Ford) about a man wrongly accused of murder and on the run...all the while trying to solve the crime himself.


End file.
